Chapter Three
Jonah kept walking toward the grocery aisle.
He didn’t glance back, hover nearby, or pretend to examine the same can of beans for ten minutes while listening to my call.
My phone vibrated again.
Four steady bars. Eleven missed calls. Six text messages. Three voicemails.
Cell service had returned with the enthusiasm of a relative arriving late to a family argument.
The newest message came from the family office.
FAMILY OFFICE: Call as soon as you have service.
I had service.
I also had no desire to reward anyone for tracking my location across Colorado.
One call would bring a driver eventually. A second would probably restore access to an airport lounge. By tonight, I could be wearing clean silk and explaining to Daddy that his attempt to teach me gratitude had lasted less than twenty-four hours.
He would enjoy that far too much.
I locked the screen and switched the phone to silent.
This wasn’t surrender. It wasn’t even a commitment to stay for the full week.
I was simply declining to let my father win before I’d purchased underwear.
Behind the counter, Mabel lowered her reading glasses and looked from my phone to my stilettos.
She had blue hair piled high on her head, work overalls, and the expression of a woman who’d spent a lifetime refusing to waste time on foolishness.
“Are you planning to stand there until those shoes finish killing you?” she asked.
“They’ve shown remarkable restraint so far.”
“They’re waiting for gravel.”
I looked toward the shoe display beneath the summer-clothing rack.
“Do you have anything sturdy that doesn’t look orthopedic?”
Mabel smiled.
“Now you’re asking the right question.”
She came around the counter and moved toward the shoe display. She asked no questions about who I was, why Jonah had brought me, or why my phone had sounded like a slot machine before I silenced it.
Mabel picked up a brown ankle boot with a block heel and thick tread. “What size?”
“Seven.”
She checked the box. “These are a seven and a half.”
“I’m a seven.”
“You’re also wearing stilettos on a mountain. We’re both making adjustments.”
I took the box from her and examined the boots. The leather was soft, the heel preserved some dignity, and the soles looked capable of defeating Jonah’s road.
“They’re not terrible.”
“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s said about them.”
Jonah appeared at the end of the aisle with two bottles of water and a basket hooked over one arm. His faded-blue work shirt fit his shoulders so closely that the plain cotton made a poor case for modesty.
His green-brown eyes moved from the boot in my hand to my face.
“You found something?”
“I found a compromise.”
Mabel took the shoes from me. “She means she doesn’t hate them.”
“I understood.”
“You’re getting smug,” I said.
“I haven’t said enough to be smug.”
“That’s how you disguise it.”
Mabel pointed toward a narrow fitting room behind the clothing rack. “Try them on before you start diagnosing his facial expressions.”
“I’m not diagnosing him. I’m identifying a pattern.”
Jonah put the basket on the floor. “Is the pattern that I keep standing here?”
“The pattern is that you enjoy being correct.”
“Most people do.”
“Not with this much restraint.”
His mouth shifted at one corner.
Mabel handed me the box. “Take your shoes off before your ankles file for emancipation.”
The fitting room was barely wider than my shoulders, but it had a bench, a mirror, and a curtain that kept Jonah from accidentally witnessing anything I hadn’t invited him to see.
I sat and removed my stilettos.
Red marks circled both feet. The skin beneath the straps was tender, and my toes objected when I flexed them.
The boots slid on over a pair of socks Mabel passed beneath the curtain. They fit comfortably, though the extra half size gave me room I didn’t need.
I stood.
The block heels lifted me and didn’t threaten my life. The fitted shafts hugged my ankles, and the dark brown leather looked expensive from a reasonable distance.
I stepped out.
“They work,” he said.
“That isn’t a compliment.”
“They fit, and you can walk in them.”
“I can walk in the shoes I arrived in.”
“You can survive short distances in them.”
Mabel covered a laugh with a cough that fooled no one.
I crossed the store to test the boots. The soles held on the polished floor. Nothing pinched, shifted, or attempted murder.
“I’ll take them.”
Jonah reached for the basket again.
“I haven’t agreed that you’re buying anything,” I said.
“You don’t have access to your cards.”
“That’s temporary.”
“It’s still true.”
“I’m not accepting gifts from you.”
“I’m not offering one.”
Mabel looked between us. “Should I charge admission before this becomes a full performance?”
Jonah said, “You need shoes, clothes, toiletries, and food. Put the essentials on my account. You can repay me when you have access to your own money.”
“I want the receipt.”
“You’ll get one.”
“I want every item listed.”
“Mabel usually lists what she sells.”
Mabel nodded. “It’s a highly advanced system.”
“And this is a loan,” I said.
“Yes.”
“No favors, no domestic expectations, and no vague future discussion about what I owe you.”
Jonah’s expression changed. The amusement disappeared, but he didn’t look insulted.
“It’s money,” he said. “You’ll repay the money. That’s all.”
“Fine.”
Mabel picked up the boots’ empty box. “Good. Now let’s find you underwear before you negotiate a repayment schedule for toothpaste.”
The clothing rack held more options than I’d expected and fewer than I deserved.
There were dark jeans that hugged my hips after I rejected two pairs with so much extra fabric they could shelter a family. Denim shorts fit closely and remained decent. The fitted tanks came in black, white, and red. A cropped black T-shirt ended just above my waist.
Mabel watched me choose each item and never suggested I cover more skin.
“You don’t carry leopard print?” I asked.
“I did once. It sold out in an hour.”
“I knew this town had potential.”
Jonah returned from the grocery aisle with bread, cheese, fruit, tomatoes, pasta, canned sauce, ground beef, onions, garlic, and several other items that suggested he’d remembered food could involve more than assembling a sandwich.
I lifted a jar from the basket.
“This sauce has sugar in it.”
“It was on the shelf.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“I didn’t make it.”
“You were prepared to buy it.”
“I was prepared to feed us.”
Mabel leaned closer to me. “He thinks salt is a complete seasoning.”
Jonah looked at her. “You sell me the food.”
“I’m not responsible for what you do after it leaves.”
I put the sauce back and chose canned tomatoes instead. Then I added fresh basil from a cooler near the produce, dried oregano, parmesan, and another head of garlic.
Jonah glanced into the basket. “Are you cooking?”
“I’m preventing a crime.”
“I thought the sauce was legal.”
“Not in my grandmother’s kitchen.”
He took the heavier basket from me before I could object. “Anything else?”
“Toiletries.”
Mabel led me to shelves near the back of the store. I selected shampoo, conditioner, body wash, moisturizer, a razor, deodorant, a hairbrush, and the few cosmetics my handbag didn’t contain.
A package of plain cotton sleep shorts went into the growing pile along with socks and underwear. The underwear was basic but not tragic, which felt like an important distinction.
Near the end of the rack hung a fitted red summer dress.
It had thin straps, a low neckline, and a skirt that would stop several inches above my knees.
I held it against myself.
Mabel nodded. “Town does a July Fourth celebration. That would work if you’re still around.”
Jonah stood behind her with both baskets. He didn’t ask whether I planned to be.
He looked over the red fabric and the curves it would cover.
Heat stirred low in my abdomen.
“What do you think?” I asked.
He met my eyes. “You’d look good in it.”
“You didn’t even see it on me.”
“I don’t need to.”
Mabel looked delighted.
I turned toward the fitting room before either of them saw too much.
The dress fit perfectly.
The red made my olive skin warmer, and the neckline framed my breasts without pretending they were smaller than they were. The hem showed most of my legs. With diamonds and the new boots, it would still look like me.
I opened the curtain.
Jonah went silent.
Mabel crossed her arms. “Well?”
His eyes moved down the dress and back up, slower this time.
“It fits.”
I placed one hand on my hip. “You found more words for the boots.”
“The boots weren’t doing that.”
Mabel laughed so loudly that a man near the post-office boxes turned around.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
Jonah’s jaw tightened.
The dress went into the purchase pile.
By the time Mabel rang everything up, the counter was covered with clothing, toiletries, groceries, two packaged sandwiches, bottled water, and paper bags that filled the back seat of Jonah’s truck.
The total appeared on the register.
I opened the notes app on my phone and entered the amount.
Jonah watched me. “You’ll have the receipt.”
“I’m making my own record.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
I added the date and typed LOAN FROM JONAH in capital letters.
Mabel leaned over the counter. “You want me to witness it?”
“That would be helpful.”
She took the phone, added her name beneath the entry, and handed it back.
Jonah paid nothing in cash. Mabel wrote the charge into a thick account book beneath the counter and gave me an itemized receipt.
I folded it and placed it in my handbag.
“There,” I said. “Nobody is confused.”
“I wasn’t confused,” Jonah said.
“I’m preventing future confusion.”
“Is that different from expecting it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’ll explain after lunch.”
Mabel pointed toward a small table near the post-office area. “Eat before you start another session. You both look meaner when you’re hungry.”
We sat with the packaged sandwiches and water while Mabel helped another customer at the counter.
Jonah took the chair facing the store. I sat across from him, the bags stacked beside us.
He opened his sandwich. “Did you call anyone?”
“No.”
He paused, then took a bite.